Mother's Day
by LadyKirklandJones
Summary: It's Mother's Day again in the Britannian household and all the four sons can do is mourn the loss of their mother, Britannia. While two try to get themselves sorted, the eldest and youngest brothers have a small chat. Was it really Arthur's fault that their mother died after all?


Mother's Day - By Lady Kirkland

There was a reason for this. Always had been. Always will be. But he just had to find it. While his brothers were still in bed, lying in for they did not want to be awake just yet to mourn, Arthur was sat up and wide awake; his fingers twitching and his foot tapping as he sat on the edge of his bed, still in his pyjamas, thinking. Was it really his fault? No, of course not. It can't have been. That was all he had been told since that day, that it wasn't his fault. But the more he thought about it, the more he analysed the evidence that lay before him on the cold bedroom floor in the form of tattered pictures and photos, it seemed like it was actually his fault. The torn and tatty edges of the ancient photos were burning holes in his mind, making it harder and harder to forget. The people in them, long forgotten memories of happy times when the four sons needn't fight with each other or the rest of the world, stared up at him with their happy smiles and their varying hues of the same lime-green shining, making Arthur feel sick to his stomach. His heart ached as he wished she was here. Oh, how they all wished she was there with them. But she wasn't. At least, not anymore. She was dying as she spoke her last words to the eldest son, words that the other three didn't hear. They couldn't hear the sweet sounds of her voice as she gave her dying breath, for they were too young, in the eldest son's eyes, to be there. Arthur, Patrick and Dylan all screamed as they were taken away by their Australian cousins, Jesse and Jack Kirkland, screaming as they couldn't see their mother one last time. No tears came to Arthur's eyes this time, this year. He had cried them all in previous years as he mourned with his head buried in Allistor's chest, the Scotsman trying to comfort his youngest brother. This year he was crying dry-eyed as he remembered every moment with his mother, Britannia. That was the only name they knew her by, Mother Britannia. The moments from when he first learned to talk and walk, to her dying hours. Everything was too painful for one man to hold inside him, whether he was a nation or not.

Arthur's ears pricked as he heard his brother and fellow nation, Allistor Kirkland, the personification of Scotland, waking up in his room next door. More movement could be heard as Allistor went to wake up his brothers, the Almost-Twins, Paddy and Dylan.

"C'mon lads, wake yerselves up…" Allistor said, his words muffled through Arthur's bedroom wall as he gently roused his brothers from their sleep. Unlike other mornings, there were no moans of "Just five more minutes Allistor!" or "Nnnn not yet…"only a murmured response from the Welsh and Irish brothers. Arthur waited for a moment longer before he heard Allistor coming to his room, routine being completed as usual, and opening the door. Not wanting his brother to see, Arthur leapt off his bed and tidied away the photos on the wooden floor, gently cramming them into a metal box and sliding it under his bed.

"Arthur… Yoo awake laddie?" Allistor said gently, slowly coming into the Englishman's room. No sooner than he had set foot across the threshold, he saw Arthur crouched down beside his bed, no doubt putting back that metal box he'd seen lying around. Unbeknownst to the Brit, Allistor knew what was in it. A soft noise of confirmation came from Arthur as Allistor came in further into the room, one of the many signs that Arthur was slipping away into his own world yet again. It was always this time of the year, Allistor thought, always Mother's Day when Arthur would shut himself away and try to convince himself that it either was or wasn't his fault. It, of course, wasn't his fault that Mother Britannia had died as all his brothers told him and yet Arthur kept on saying that it was. He was the most rowdy of the four sons when it came to wars, and was always the one that got into the most wars despite the fact that he was the youngest and by far one of the quietest when not involved in bloodshed and murder.

"Yeah…" Arthur said absently, still sat on the floor in his pearl-white shirt and Union Jack boxer shorts as he played with the latch on the metal box. Allistor gave a sad smile as he approached his almost silent sibling, the Scot dressed in his own pyjamas too; a dark blue vest with Scottish flag boxers. Arthur barely made a noise or movement as Allistor knelt down and wrapped him in a hug, pulling the Englishman close to his chest and letting him breathe in the whiskey and smoke fumes. Arthur clung tightly to Allistor's shirt, his body shaking as he tried again and again to cry, but no tears came. The older brother rubbed Arthur's back, knowing how it felt to want to cry but not being able to at the same time, and whispered Scottish-Gaelic words of comfort into Arthur's ear, knowing how the sweet sound of them calmed him down.

"It's alright lad... It's alright..." Allistor said gently, rocking slightly as he tried to comfort the youngest Kirkland. Arthur gave a sob, deprived of the salty tears to go with it, and shook his head, once more trying to convince himself that it was his fault. He was convinced that he was to blame for their mother's death, a painful burden no man should carry on his shoulders. But what was more painful was that each of the Kirklands knew that, truley and deeply, it was his fault. He had failed to keep Britannia safe even when he was a child. But a child should not have been made to carry that task, to protect his own mother. He had gotten into so many wars, so many fights that led to her demise in the end.

"I.. I failed... I failed..." Arthur said brokenly, his shoulders shaking as he clung to Allistor's chest.

"Nae lad, yoo didnae fail..."

"But I did!"

"Arthur James Kirkland listen tah me," Allistor said almost harshly but firmly at the same time, enough to make the youngest Kirkland look up with wide glassy orbs, "Yoo didnae fail Mother, understand? She were dyin' and all Ah could do was make sure that none of ye wee feckers cocked up and made yerselves think tha' t'was yer fault. Orright? T'weren't yer fault, Arthur, an' we all know that." Arthur froze, his eyes wide as he listened to the words of his Scottish brother.

"It... wasn't...?" Arthur said in disbelief, blinking slowly as Allistor smiled gently.

"Nae lad, yoo ain't tah blame fer Mother's death, orright? She were dyin' cos of the 'mount o' wars an' bloodshed she were involved in, 'specially with that Roman Empire fecker." Allistor said with a smile, gently ruffling his brother's blonde hair in a playful manner. Arthur didn't move away like usual, instead just staying in his brother's lap and thinking about what had just been said. A thought slowly rose to his mind as he remembered that day when Mother died. Quietly, he asked his brother an innocent question.

"Alli?"

"Aye lad?"

"What did Mother say to you when Jesse and Jack took us away?" Scotland froze, his smile never faltering, as he answered.

"Ah don't want tah tell yoo thah truth, lad... But neither do Ah wanna lie to ya..."

"What did she say, Allistor?" Arthur pressed, desperate to know.

"She jus' wanted me tah look after yoo all, orright? Nothin' more, nothin' less." Allistor finally said, only telling half of the truth. He looked away from his brother's acid-green eyes towards the door that had just swung open, revealing a still-tired Wales and wide-awake Ireland, both of them half bouncing up and down as they waited impatiently for Allistor to make them breakfast. Allistor smiled before standing and pulling Arthur with.

"Now lad, why don't yoo go 'n run downstairs with yer brothers and sort yerselves out, aye? Ah'll catch yoo up," Allistor said with a smile on his face. Arthur nodded, leaving the room with his two older brothers reluctantly. Wales wrapped his arm around England's shoulders, smiling gently as he led him downstairs. Ireland, meanwhile, stayed behind and approached Scotland.

"Allistor," he started, standing just in front of the eldest sibling.

"Aye"

"What did you tell him?" The Irish man said, his forest-green eyes searching the emerald-green ones before him.

"Ah only said tah him that Mother wanted me tah look after yoo all... Nothin' else." The Scotsman replied smoothly, instantly settling the younger nation's fears.

"Good... Because he can't know the truth..."

"Ah know, Paddy, Ah know... Now go an' get yerself some breakfast lad, yoo'll end up starvin' if ye don't." Scotland said with a slight laugh, making Paddy smile back.

"Alright Allistor... I'll see you in a moment..." he said, bouncing off down the stairs and seeing to his two younger siblings before they could set the house on fire. Only Allistor remained in the bedroom, a rather sad smile painted across his face. Kneeling down again, he took out the metal box from under Arthur's bed and opened it, revealing all the photos from when they were with Mother, including her final moments in the hospital. Allistor took out the last photo, anger and hurt boiling in his green hues as he looked over the image. To anyone else, it would appear as a normal photograph of three four, five and six year olds and one eighteen year old with their dying mother. But to Allistor, it was far from normal. He knew the real reason Britannia had died, and he had known for all these years.

Slowy he stood, placing the photo back in the box but never replacing the box under the bed, and left the room as shouting erupted from the kitchen; no doubt Arthur had tried cooking again much to his brother's distaste. The photo lay tarnished and worn in the confines of the box, the family friend's devilish grin staring up at the lid as he held a knife to Britannia's throat, and a gun to her head, his crimson eyes burning as he went to pull the trigger.


End file.
